Ex Nihilo
by Anatone
Summary: You think I'm your savior, your Fire Lily? Try me. This is a torch and this is gasoline. Touch me and you'll burn. / modern-day adaptation of the Books of Pellinor


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><p><em>I feel cooped up, I wanna bust free; you got nothing to lose if you get me.<em>

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><p>My name is Maerad and I'm on fire.<p>

Freya, my roommate, mouses through our flat. Her dilated eyes are empty bowls. She's looking for the scratch to buy another hit, she's checking the places she thinks I don't know about. Only I do know. Rent's due today and I paid with Freya's dope scratch; I've fronted her enough, she owes me some. Freya hasn't noticed yet, she probably won't. It's only half-past dusk but she's already smashed. She's been smashed all week, ever since her girlfriend left.

I watch her through gummy lashes. I feel like I'm going to puke; I'm laying on the sperm-covered couch for that reason. A cancer stick dangles between my loose lips. I think about telling Freya about the money but I don't. I got problems of my own.

"You goin' out tonight, Raddy?" Freya's speech is slurred. "I'mma go buy me a real ringer with my new girl. You in?"

I shake my head.

Freya laughs sloppily. "Forgot," she says, "you're too good for us all."

"Sure," I say. Buy in to her teasing, just to keep her off my ass. "Born an' bred princess right here." I slur my words like Freya, blending in.

She's walking back to the bathroom. "Keep my girl busy if she comes, will ya?"

"Sure, sure."

I lean my head back on the armrest and stretch my legs, take a drag of cancer. Freya's clattering with the hairspray behind me; I curl my nose at the smell. Another drag. I imagine I'm a clock and my breath is the second hand. Tick tick tick, time's passing. How much longer 'til I can sleep off my hangover? Too long.

Too long is a long time to wait. Tick, tick, tick.

A shadow moves over the flat's barred window. There's a knock on the door and then I can see the night sky. Smog curls in over the roach-coverd floor. It's thicker than cancer smoke and I cough, squint at the sillhouette that let the bad air in.

"Close that door, will ya?" I ask between wheezes.

"Sorry."

It takes a minute for me to clear out my eyes. I blink through the smog and the stench. Meat packing's the name of the game in this town; boiled blood sure does smell. When I'm done coughing I look up. There a woman-girl standing in front of my couch. Red lips, fried hair, skin everywhere. I grin. Freya's girls all look the same to me: B-grade sluts.

"You must be Freya's roommate," she's says. I'm trying hard to pretend I don't see her but it's too much work. "Raddy, right?"

"Yeah," I say. I wish Freya would hurry up with her prettifying. This one's a talker.

"Your ma's the one who died in the factory accident last year, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"That's a shame," she says, and for a minute I think she means it. "My ma's the most important thing to me."

I roll my eyes. Great. Not only is she a talker, she's one of those touchy-feely sluts. My favorite. I make the effort to block her out but I can't quite do it. Venom is my next best defense.

"Yeah, I'm sure she's real important," I say. "Bet she approves of your going out at night and popping acid cubes and paintin' like you do. Bet she gave you her permission to be a whore an' everything. Do I have that right?"

There's no answer from her. I take a long pull and let the smoke out slow, right in her face. There's rage in her eyes but it don't bother me. I can handle anger; it's sympathy I don't like.

"Am I way off the mark there?" I'm just goading her now.

Still nothing. I'm almost disappointed; the firecracker sluts are the best. Freya's had a few of those.

"I'm all ready baby!" Freya's back in the room. Her hair's like a block of concrete now, she's sprayed it so many times. She stops when she sees the two of us, we're having a staring contest. She touches her girl's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

The woman-girl looks at me again before smiling at Freya. "Nothing," she says. "Your roommate's a freak is all."

Freya laughs. "She sure is!"

They walk out hand-in-hand, hips bobbing in the smoggy night.

I watch them go and shake my head. Freak, am I? It's true; I don't belong here. I'm not a painted slut or a binging addict. I suck smoke into my lungs and fall back onto the wretched couch. Reflexes cause me to throw up but there's nothing inside me anymore. I'm all ashes.

I gotta get out of here.

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><p><em><span>AN: _My idea for a modern adaptation of Alison Croggon's Pellinor books dates back to my very first foray into fanfiction. The original novel was titled _The Gift Remixed_ and was a fairly literal/spot-on retelling.

This redraft will be more of a gritty urban fantasy; there will be sex, drugs, violence, hippies, and organized crime. I'm not promising that the Maerad you know and love will be perfectly in-character here, but I promise to at least make an attempt.

Blanket warning for: sex, rape, drugs, violence, language, etc. Rating subject to change.

_Title from 'Lovalot' by M.I.A._


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